


death sits in the seat next to me

by overandout (smokesque)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, First Meetings, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, One Shot, this is so ooc dont even read it i hate myself, vld halloween gift exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/overandout
Summary: “Maybe I’ll summon a demon so I have someone to hang out with,” Lance says and he’s joking, but only a little bit. Halloween really sucks when your best friend lives halfway across the country.(in which lance unwittingly wills a demon into his home and they watch bad movies together because god forbid i let keith and lance be anything but domestic)





	death sits in the seat next to me

**Author's Note:**

> this is my (oh so very late) gift for [crazyrooftopfireworksparty](https://crazyrooftopfireworksparty.tumblr.com/) as part of the vld halloween exchange. again, i'm so sorry about the delay! i hope you enjoy this fic all the same.
> 
> i borrowed the "maybe i'll summon a demon so i have someone to hang out with" prompt from [this list](https://splattermemes.tumblr.com/post/166364458111/halloween-sentence-starters%20).
> 
> (title pilfered from charles bukowski. you all know that one quote, right?)

The evening pales into early dusk by the time Lance finishes formatting his thesis. It’s a lousy way to spend arguably the most exciting day of the year, but college deadlines wait for no man, ghost, or ghoul. Lance kicks back on the couch, folding his ankles atop one another beside a still-full bowl of candy on the coffee table. He had set it out in a hopeful bid for a distraction, but trick-or-treaters are few and far between when you live in an apartment block populated majorly by senior citizens. Still, candy for one isn’t exactly the _worst_ way to celebrate.

Lance’s fingers are tapping Hunk’s number on speed dial before he realises what they’re doing, phone tucked between cheek and shoulder, one hand buried in an assortment of gummy snakes and Freddo Frogs, and the other reaching out to mute the quiet buzz of the television. Hunk picks up on the second ring but his voice comes through sounding faraway and accompanied by tinny music and several people babbling over one another.

“Are you at a party?” Lance says, in lieu of a greeting. Something sounding suspiciously like yodelling starts up in the background, then a door slams and Hunk’s voice drowns out the muffled celebrations.

“Yeah, obligatory college party. All the freshmen go,” he says, his voice bubbling on the verge of tipping into slurred. “Tell me you’re not home alone this year.”

“Thesis is kicking my ass, man. Scholarships, you know?”

Hunk lets out a low whine of agreement and Lance knows he gets it. Eight thousand miles too far to be of any help, but he _gets_ it. Lance steers the conversation back to Hunk’s party, back to topics that feel a little safer than his own impending loneliness, back to costumes and kegs and the cute girl who may or may not be dressed as Wednesday Adams (if only Hunk had the courage to ask). And it almost feels normal, for all of thirty minutes. It’s familiar and comforting, and Lance knows how to talk far better than he knows how to be alone.

“I should get back to the party,” Hunk says, because it just would not do for the universe to tilt in Lance’s favour. “Try to have a good evening, buddy. It’s Halloween.”

He’s definitely drunk now. Lance is not sure he’d have any hope convincing a sober Hunk his night was salvageable.

“Maybe I’ll summon a demon so I have someone to hang out with,” Lance says and he’s joking, but only a little bit. Halloween really sucks when your best friend lives halfway across the country. It’s a toss-up as to whether or not Hunk heard him, because the receiver clicks off a split-second later. Lance tries his best not to feel put out. Twilight dwindles at the edge of the horizon, slowing creeping into existence, but Lance refuses to turn in for the night. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for at this point—just that there has to be more than _this_. More than silence and emptiness. It’s Halloween, after all.

He must drift off at some point because he blinks and there’s a man standing in front of his TV. The grainy movie playing turns to nothing but static and Dream-Lance pauses to register that he’s missing the end of a film he was barely watching, before his attention is once again captured by the unwarranted presence. The man doesn’t look overly out of place—weird, considering Lance is pretty sure he doesn’t belong there—as his gaze flits around the room, taking in the drawn curtains, potted plants, and eventually Lance, slumped on the couch and wrist deep in candy. None of it seems to impress the man.

Though, the more Dream-Lance looks, the more he wonders about the accuracy of that descriptor. The man (or whatever he may be) has purple eyes—literally bright purple!—and Lance is certain those are pointed ears peeking through his hair. His fingers, tapping lightly against his elbow where his arms are folded across his chest, end in sharpened claws dark enough to swallow Lance whole. An unexpected chill runs down his spine.

“Who are you?” Dream-Lance asks, his body tensing as those purple (bright purple!) eyes flicker over him. There’s a heart-stopping silence in which they hold eye contact for a beat and Lance thinks to add, “ _What_ are you?”

“A demon,” the man—well, the _demon_ —says at length, claws stilling over his bicep. “Keith.”

Lance doesn’t laugh. It’s a near thing, though. A _demon_ from the fiery pits of _hell_ is currently _staring Lance down_ on the _spookiest_ night of the year and his name is _Keith_ of all things.

“How did my subconscious come up with this one?”

“I’m not a figment of your imagination,” Keith says indignantly, like being a product of Lance’s dreams would be such a bad thing, and Lance wonders if he should be offended. After all, he’s having the worst Halloween of his life and now his own brain is turning against him.

“This is a dream. You’re only here because I made you up,” he says. Keith doesn’t dignify that with a response, but he arches one eyebrow and levels his heavy, purple stare. Lance digs his nails into the skin of his inner wrist, holds his breath, and wills himself to wake up. The room stays solid. Keith the Demon does not blink. So pinching doesn’t work, but that doesn’t mean anything. Lance knows he’s dreaming. There’s a demon standing in front of him, for god’s sake, this can’t be _real_.

“Let’s say I humour you, just for a minute. You’re Keith the Demon, I’m Lance the Human, and we’re both here in _my_ sitting room. What the hell are you doing here?” Maybe-Not-Dream-Lance says.

Keith shifts uncomfortably and wrestles with a concerned expression threatening to bloom on his face. It’s the first sign of anything other than impassivity that Lance has seen from him since he arrived, and it feels a little like an achievement.

“The highways always get clogged up around this time. It’s the busiest night of the year, so you can’t always be sure where you’ll get dropped off. But—you didn’t summon me?”

And, oh, that sounds familiar. Lance is fairly certain he doesn’t even know the first thing about summoning demons but he _had_ said—

It couldn’t be that easy, right?

“The highways? You mean demons just drive around with the rest of us?” Lance says, deflecting before he has to face the reality of what he may or may not have done.

“The underworld highways. It’s different,” Keith says impatiently, and Lance can tell he hadn’t missed the uncertain beat of silence. “You called me here didn’t you?”

“In my defence, I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought actually summoning a demon required, like, candles or something.”

Keith’s shoulders drop when he sighs, a full body movement that seems to suck the energy right out of him. Lance feels a little guilty, but it’s decidedly not his fault. Demon summoning isn’t exactly his forte.

“So how does this work? We’re not bound for life, right?” Lance asks because the only thing that could possibly make his miserable Halloween worse is accidentally tying his soul to an apathetic demon who doesn’t seem to like him much. Keith’s claws return to tapping agitated rhythms into his elbow, but he seems more annoyed than downright furious so Lance guesses things might not be so bad.

“I owe you one order and I can’t leave until I fulfil it.”

And that’s when things really start to look up. Lance thinks of Hunk getting wasted at college parties, thinks of his family telling ghost stories around the fire, thinks of a bowl of candy and trick-or-treaters that never came. Mostly, he thinks “ _Try to have a good evening, buddy_ ” and he thinks maybe he can do Hunk proud.

“You’d better sit down then. I need time to think up my wish.”

“I’m not a _genie_ ,” Keith says with disdain, “And I’m on a tight schedule so if you could just hurry up—”

“One order, man, this is a serious decision. Come on.” Lance pats the space beside him. Keith doesn’t bother hiding his glower but he sidesteps the coffee table and takes the offer.

“I’m Lance, by the way, and this movie is terrible.”

He turns up the volume on the TV and settles in. Terrible movie or not, his night is a little less worthless when he’s sharing it—albeit with a literal demon from hell.

 

Turns out the movie doesn’t matter, because they talk over most of it anyway. Lance has far more questions about demonic lifestyle than he realised and Keith isn’t an avid talker but he’s enough to fuel Lance’s fire. And it’s almost ridiculous how little Lance cares about being a million miles away from everything he calls home when Keith turns that purple gaze on him and throws sarcasm right back in his face.

The movie ends, and so do two more, before Lance starts to feel exhaustion creep into his bones. It’s been a long day of absolutely nothing and then all too much quite suddenly, and he’s ready to sleep the weirdness of it out of his system. He has one last thing to do, though. One last unspoken promise, loathe as he is to commit to it.

“I know what I want from you,” he says and Keith stiffens beside him. They’re closer now than they had been, imperceptible shifts throughout the night drawing them to an inch apart on the couch. “I know what I want, but I won’t ask it of you. That’s not fair.”

He has to close his eyes for a second, to prepare himself for what he’s about to do. He knows what it means, but he can’t keep Keith here against his will.

“So first, our deal. I want you to pass me that bowl of candy.”

“Lance—” Keith is staring at him when he opens his eyes, so he hurries to cut him off.

“That’s what I summoned you for. I really need you to pass me the candy.”

Keith does, hesitantly as though it’s the hardest order he’s ever been tasked with. As Lance takes the bowl from his hands, he feels the warmth seep slowly from the air. For a split second, his lungs compress and the whole world flashes out of focus before they’re back to solidity, but the air remains cold around them. Something breaks inside him.

“Now, between you and me. Between Keith and Lance, not demon and master. Between us, I want you to stay.”

The look on Keith’s face is enough. Lance knows it’s impossible, knows Keith has orders to take and summons to answer and a thousand and one things Lance can’t even comprehend to do. But hope is a powerful thing, flickering stubbornly into existence where Lance can’t find the strength to blow it out. Keith isn’t saying anything, but Lance is hoping, hoping, _hoping_. He goes to bed empty-handed, but in his dreams (his real dreams this time), he hopes.

It’s still early when daylight and exhaustion start fighting for his attention. It’s not a surprise that the apartment lies silent and still around him, but Lance feels his flame lose heat at the emptiness of it. He knows it’s time to write last night off as a dream.

But there is a demon curled up on his couch when he tiptoes downstairs, purple ears twitching with dreams and black-clawed fingers tucked neatly under his chin. Lance fights a smile and goes to make coffee. If this is the worst Halloween of his life, he thinks maybe he can live with it.


End file.
